…mind talks…

Dreams

In the midst of the gooey mass of grey matter in the prefrontal lobe stands a huge army of Spartan soldiers with their spears sticking upwards in the air. They are prepared to fight, prepared to conquer malaise, to combat for Truth. For the mind is a wondrously dangerous place, and white lies are in constant battle with black lies and dirty little secrets. With a tweak of a passage of signals, the entire perception alters somewhat drastically. It gives birth to a thought, an idea, and though in its embryonic form, it still has the capability of enveloping the entire physique, covering the subtle pores of the skin with its vulnerable coat like myelineated sheaths of axons. It hydrates the thirsty soul; it instigates a certain craving for – a little cocaine, maybe? Fervently spreading throughout the entire breathing creature, it begins to speak aloud in the creature’s own voice. But how weak the mind is! Yet it is capable of intelligent choice.

Secret Garden. (Photo courtesy of Twitter)

A long time has past since I last published my work on WordPress.

It is a superficially busy time for me because, after this semester, I have only two more to go. Then I shall finally graduate. It is critically important that I do well during these last few months because I plan to sit for masters. Not only that I am working towards developing my own organizational objectives with a music business unit. It is not easy to do this single-handedly, but I am fortunate to be able to work with other entrepreneurs as well.

It truly is one last stage for me to get by. I admit it is tough because I am now handling everything by myself, from tuition fees to organization structure to this little powerful drug – writing – that I do every now and then. I am consummated by exams and university projects and meeting new people. Every now and then I am hurled into Dreamland, where I am trapped in an extremely tall tower waiting for my knight in his white horse to come around and save me of course. At the very same moment, Time is graciously ticking away.

It definitely is fun to form mutual friendships with people and organizations, especially those who would be able to help out in the event that it is necessary. As part of entrepreneurship all that stress that comes along with it – hopefully it ends successfully. I want it to be a success of course! It meaning everything. Which encompasses education, my job, my friends, my family, my life – everything, god damn it. All these are the work of a lifetime. These are all my Paradise.

The cotton pashmina that veiled the lady’s beautiful mind – it fluttered in the gentle wind as she glided gallantly down the ivory steps of the ruins of the fire-beaten Colossal pillars, her velvety dress sailing along. Nothing was visible save her darkly distinguishable kohl hazel-brown eyes. The light that shone through those piercing eyes burned everything she saw into flames. But she did not seem afraid.

In a second little fairies appeared in the air; they flew around her, following her in a little camaraderie. They tweeted cheerfully, with such childlike merriment and vigor. She did not stop in her march.

Where did she come from? Why was she heading to the fire with such passionate intent?

Listen… listen closely. Feel… feel naturally. Think… think carefully. Life waltzes in its own majestic ways. No one could ever imagine how journeys would end, drastically, or with a tinge of fantasy. One may lose himself in the tangle of cobwebs, but yes, he will cut his way out and yes, he will find his way through. Darkness may plunge the anguished soul into the depths of the abyss where gargantuan monsters lie, waiting to gulp down a good meal. Gunshots may fell the body into pits of raging fire, melting the skin, eating away at the muscles.

But you know what? He will make it through. He will push his way up, regardless of how thick the gooey mess he is in. He will emerge from the pain of having his growing body held captive in the seemingly shrunken cocoon.

Today is Malaysia Day, and I have been spending the early hours of the morning to contact a few psychologists for interviews as part of my university project. I have also spent a huge amount of time talking to my business partners about the event I am planning to hold soon.

The searing pain in the head; let it go, let it go. It is hard to forget the past so sweet and which told of a future that was meant to be. It is all a learning process anyhow, although it is hard to accept. If only time could turn back its hands and work in reverse.

But how is that even possible?

I made a vow when I left: That I am going to heal like the issue never existed in the first place. I am going to swing on my chandelier from out of your grasp, back to where I belong. I am very aware of my points of origin, and whatever else I am doing. I have given my best, too. It is only for you to take it or leave it. Whatever it is, you are still a part of me.

And there is no need to be afraid. Where you find water, jump in. Where you find the ocean, plunge in. Get wet. Inhale and exhale whole-heartedly as you allow the tiny rippling droplets of sea hydrate the pores of your skin. Where you find the forests, run through and get yourself lost in the trees. Capture the magic that you find in the air. Look for that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that comes in between the rain and breaking sunlight. Sketch imaginary dreams in the blue sky. Close your eyes. Live in the present, in the moment.

Pay attention to the inner dialogue, that little voice speaking inside your heart. Be one with your mind and soul. Be it rain or shine, let the weather wash away your anxieties. Let the gushing sound of streams in the waterfall filter out your emotions.

One of my Getting Lost excursions. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

Drive somewhere you have never set foot before. Head out to the beach in the morning; slowly tread along the shores in your bare feet, and feel the waves brush gently between your toes. Head to the hills in the evening and find a little spot where you can get a good view of the sunset. Turn the light breeze into music as it orchestrates over your ears.

Grab hold of Mother Nature, and never let go. Permit yourself the luxury of freedom. It is best to travel without planning the day. Let life happen as it should.

Life gets in way with what we are occasionally; it has us chasing after several things that we wish could be ours – but are not, unfortunately. Normally we forget who we are in the process; we imprison ourselves in our own rigmaroles and deny ourselves the meaning of life. Like auto-generated assembly lines we operate tediously from dusk to dawn. Every single interaction with another human being becomes programmed by rules and instructions set by society. We arrive home flustered, exhausted, and frustrated.

The solution? Get yourself lost.

My Getting Lost excursions are kind of memorable. The last time I got lost, I hiked up a hill filled with waterfalls. The trail was steep and slippery, but I managed to climb all the way up. I had fun on my own in the gushing currents. On the way down, I met a furry little kitten who was fending itself from nasty babboons. What did I do? Well, I picked him up and carried him down to the foot of the hill, chasing those monkeys away in the process. I even had lunch with him; I watched as he munched at the burger I bought him. That was just one of my excursions.

What about yours – why not go somewhere new, away from the world today? Find your Narnia; it could even be simply at your backyard.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge.” – Albert Einstein (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

Where knowledge seeks to understand, imagination strives to satisfy its curiosity.

If we could turn back in our journey, wherever we may be leading ourselves to, and look at the origins of the term, it would mean a “lettered person” in Old French. On the surface level, art is about utilizing creativity and imagination to come up with something innovative, fun, and, well, creative. Most of all, to me it means a method of self-expression, the work itself symbolizing happiness, anger, jealousy, hatred, and madness. This does not come easy to all of us.

We express ourselves in various ways. Some of us spin around the dance floor, some of us write songs – but some of us also prefer to keep to ourselves and let the voices in our head do the talking. And it comes out; it comes out in shades of red, blue, yellow, and orange. At times it comes out in streaks of the pen as the nib scribbles through a blank sheet of paper. It gets petrifying, once in a while, especially when the mind is doing all the talking, and the poor, unfortunate pen has nothing to do but etch out the mind’s jibberish.

Hell yes, writers are artists too. Writers of every kind dances along the lines of words, making music in his own way – the words find a certain kind of harmony, a certain kind of tango, with a high or low pitch, and then connect themselves in coherent flow. Just catch a glimpse of Shakespeare’s work; how meticulous it was written, that till now, hundreds of years later, people are still scratching their little round heads over the meaning behind them all.

Anyway, there goes…. I have been “wearing” this hairdo for nearly a week by now – and it makes me strangely cool. At least that is the way I think. What do you think, anyway? Is it not a spectacular piece of art? Haha.

Breaded [sic] hair. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

Artists have the capacity to imagine to greater heights. They have the ability to “wow” the average human being, because that is just what they do. Even the most famous inventors are artists, too.

So, yeah. Writers – we are cool just like that. We are bold. Brave. Courageous. In our own silent way.

PS.: Apparently my body needs a bit more body-rocking to get going. Just saying.

Breaking free! This is how I express myself. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

Okay, okay. Really sorry for the abbreviation, because I rarely use them in my writing (it is just not my etiquette), but guess what: You only live once. Romance. Risks. Life and death situations. Fight-or-flight. Or the other way round. Shame. Attitude. Opportunities. Courage. Determination. It is worth the risk. So take it, god damn it.

This is just a simple little life project of mine, some scheduled before I get married, some scheduled before I think I want to die. I am an expressionist when it comes to art and things like these; I believe in self-expression. I am always wanting to go beyond what I think I can do and do as much as I can, with the time I have in hand. I am always on the lookout for opportunities, spreading out my dendrites bare naked to really savor the sweet fruits of work.

Life happens, of course, and there is going to be a teeny-weeny little switch in the way things are every now and then. You just got to adapt.

Just like me and my best friend, partner in crime for life, and love. He said time will tell, and as time ticked by the minutes, he awakened my soul. His existence brought a whole new level of experience to me, incorporating more actions and deep thoughts about sharing beautiful times. Making me think seriously, how do I want to do what I want to do tomorrow? With whom?

Below is my list:

I want to express myself through music, writing, the eclectic arts, and the sciences.

I want to dance in the rain.

I want to fly with or without wings.

I want to bungee-jump off the mountains in New Zealand.

I want to travel around the world.

I want to explore the earth like a wanderlust.

I want to sky-dive.

I want to climb the highest mountain in the Himalayas.

I want to dive around beautiful Grecian islands in the Mediterranean.

If there is an expedition to Pluto, I want to go too.

What he calls the Rock-Star Personality, because I am always, always wanting to do anything and everything right away. But he wants me to sit and wait for the moment to happen, because he really, really wants to come along with me. And I want him to come along with me, too. I feel kind of sad when we do not do something together. It is just the way I feel. Some parts of life can be so hard, but the thing is we will survive. These are beautiful times.

The only drawback is the fact that right now I am kind of confined to my studies, but only for a little while. I hope everyone will be a little patient and hold on, because my journey has not ended yet. From a positive perspective, I sense a lot of excitement in the air. The vibes are vibrating vigorously between the particles; a whole aura of happiness is beaming between the neutrons and protons, the charges canceling each other out because of the equilibrium, thus making the charge positive. Sometimes it is too positive I cannot hide… but wait! I got stuff to do which will be done soon enough, so please, please, please be patient with me, and be good.

At times when it rains so bad the roofs start shaking, I want to go out and dance in the rain. I want to get wet, so wet that I am drained. I want to jump off the cliff even, and fall so freely there is nothing to do except living in the moment. I want to shake, and shake, and shake it all. I want to break free, and experience life right now, right as it is. The Blitzkreig, with its natural warring attitude-that I want to fight along also. And I do not care, because these make me feel so fulfilled.

And when it comes, the butler shall open the huge oak doors. The Lady shall step out in her five-inch gold heels, and glide across the path to the Mercedes Benz waiting at the other end, her beautiful dark red hair brushing against the wind, and the satin ruffles of her long black dress sweeping lightly along. The chauffeur shall step out and open the car doors for her, and usher her in.

And then the Lady shall go on a journey deep into the unknown, but she shall not be worried, for she knows she is in safe hands.

Not every Tom, Dick, and Harry is capable of comprehending my writings; it takes one of considerable wisdom, I suppose.

Does Time wait for you, or do you wait for time, I wonder? (Photo credits to Ekamil Razali)

Yes, I am aware time is ticking by. The minute hands are sweeping away by the day, and at each forward move rocks of obstacles are hurled my way. Yet it is only the code by which this intangible thing called time works.

The effort spent – time itself, and energy as well – it shall not go to waste. When I wrote The Blitzkreig, I meant it. When I wrote all the other posts after that, I meant them too. Whilst I have been busy sharpening my swords of authenticity, I have been through nightmares too, where pots kept clanking and alarms kept ringing perpetuously. Probably I was faced with a paradigm shift, but no, not that I deny it, however it absolutely is not so! It has been like this until someone came over and shook me tlll he woke me from my bad dreams. Just saying.

Tragedy befell the poor, pretty mind, and it purged out a loud: “Oh!” Nonetheless, the neurons still decided to head on to the party instead together with the protons and the electrons. Together, they downed high doses of whisky, zapping all the way up and down through the cranium, and left with empty bottles lying on the dance floor.

And emerged as one from the doors more silent, solemn, and whatever else, with their minds readied for mental combat. The thing is that every time after something bad occurs, a bigger, brighter thing is churned out. At least, that is the general idea most people think happen.

The night is calling, and the fleecy clouds that adorn the stark sky are soon closing in over the round moon. Out in the marsh, I see a dark horse galloping steadily toward me. There on his leather saddle lies a little sack of maybe heroine. Should I climb him up, and ride with him, and ingest all the substance in that sack? Or should I not?

I need answers fast.

Dehydrated of – what? (Photo Credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

I feel like giving my baby (my site, really!) a complete makeover – sort of. I feel like emblazoning all over her critical reviews of movies, and drama, and whatever else that has to do with performance and the eclectic arts. There are two actions here involved – not only reviewing, but also writing on those reviews. I do not have any intentions of discontinuing other topics that are currently in progress. I feel like adding other subjects into the cocktail, things like feminity, and fashion, and dancing, and music, and dreaming, and the science of happiness and all things positive. If it were dancing, I definitely would write on hip-hop. Or any kind of dance. It does not really matter, does it?

It was dear old Socrates who had once upon a time mentioned that the unexamined life is not worth living. Life is a never-ending piece of examination, isn’t it. It is never static, for life is but a winding river gushing with water. It overflows into a whirlpool of information – and overpowered by the enormous strength of the currents one is swirled in together, consumed in all, for once, of its magnificient omnipotence.

Oh well. That is because I am doing it too. Question is, should I divert my attention to another site, or should I just remain here zapping my Bazooka thoughts, under the pseudonym Red Scarlet?

My brains have been dehydrated of words like a burning desert in dire need of water, the brown earth caked hard in the excruciating heat. It is extremely thirsty of whatever that quenches its – what? I feel like grabbing firm hold of a shovel, losing control like a crazy word-o-maniac, and continuously digging all the way down, and down, and down, until it reaches the intoxicated id. I feel like revealing its naked, provocative truths to the surface of the superego, out of the frontal lobe – where dreams meet reality.

Charon, Pluto’s beloved son – he rowed the fragile boat through the dark blue waters of the Styx. It was all pitch black except for the little oil-lamp which had been lit before they began their journey.

Lovely Athene sat below him, silent as a child, unbeknownst of their final destination. The vagueness of the mist which had so far enshrouded the air (if it were air they were breathin’) was nothing to her beautiful grey eyes; in all her purity, her vision pierced through every bit of haze, thick and thin. Her ivory white skin reflected on the murky waters as if they were but glass. And her ears – she listened to hear, but she heard nothing. Nothing could be heard. Nothing spoke of life itself; except for the swishing of Charon’s oars through the mystical river. She was all alone in this journey. Or was she?

For out of the whitish-grey fog, something big and dangerous (at least, it appeared so) scooted away from the back of a huge boulder to another. Just what was that? Athene asked herself. More importantly, should she proceed? Or should she turn back?

Going back where I come from is decidedly an incredibly long way. Much time has been consumed – it must have been years, in fact; no, decades, that I have lost count. Now I am so deeply entangled within the web of myelineated axons and dendrites, like Athene who is so deeply lost in the surreal gloom, and yet steadily emerges out of the Valleys from Charon’s boat.

Athene knows she is very close to the surface of the Darkness, where Artemis the Goddess of Light shall triumph in all her glory.

I presume I am more than halfway there, too, that the answers are going to sprout up sooner or later. Which is so because I have noticed. It is as if I am wiping clean an old window pane that has not been dusted for centuries, and it gets clearer with every swipe.

This is of course quite exciting, in all events. The eyes capture a glimpse of hope shimmering from the East; Dawn breaks and dew from the midnight rain cools the air with a magical mist. I must leave, and go ahead on my journey.

Do I look like I have won a battle in my dreams or something? (Photo credits to Ekamil Razali)

At times I find myself blungeoning deep down into the abyss of deeply-crested emotions. My self is lost, fully submerging into an array of resounding heartbeats that pierce through the ear canal with as much pitch as the sound of gunshot. As I descend, countless questions bombard my existence, some so easy I could simply hurl them back wherever they came from, some so difficult they nearly crush me with all their weight.

In all the mania of drama, yes, I am in reality, hurt. Tired of the predispositions I have been placed in. For no one knows not what I long for. There exists this consistent battle between the silent heart and the beautiful mind. Sometimes, the heart wins; sometimes, the mind. Sometimes the heart and mind find a way to work together amicably, amidst all battle – and that, I tell you, that is a very funny thing.

Which is so because they have to please the Soul, a wondrous piece of art, mere atoms framed synchronously in position. For the body is to live.

And when this occurs, gallant music orchestrates out from within the Chambers of Life, through the arteries, all the way up to the Pineal Gland, where the Soul sits. His Eyes gaze forbiddingly, as if he had been forced to wait for the answers for too long. His Ears catch the first notes of violin softly humming from far below. Slowly, gradually, the harmony echoes through the empty space of flesh and blood, filling the entire abode of humanity. As if the battle has been won. It has, in its own way.

Should have, could have, might have – but did not. I must smack myself in the face. The daydreaming I have plunged myself into with all the diving through the deepest depths… it is still going to continue.

This is the 21st century we are now experiencing at the forefront of conciousness. Yet I choose to submerge a bit further through the id and out the superego as I search through the shelves of my memory for those materials I need to put to good use, specifically.

At times it takes me to a particular point in my life when I do know absolutely what I want to write about, but the hand churns up something else. Which is quite astounding, because till now, I had expected the hand to obey the mind.

But now I shall shut my hand with orders of persecution and open my mind instead. My love for drama shall be a little more pronounced in all my studies and research. It is a personal attempt to bridge a conjuction between the subject of the Sciences and the Arts. That combined with the philosophies if the ancient Grecian fathers and the rich culture of the past… ooh la la; I could have almost orgasm.

But of course I do not.

Have you tried mixing vodka with a little berry juice? Or, perhaps, whisky? It is approximately similar, only that you put your drunken thoughts to print for all to read and ponder and laugh about.

The Masai warriors are stomping their sharply-carved spears onto the ground, their loincloths waving slightly in the hot, airy climate. Let the leprachauns dance along the rhythm with pretty little green shemrocks under their cute little feet.